


I'm Not Over You, Can I Get Back Under?

by MovesLikeBucky



Series: Ritz to the Rubble [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Crowley has what he wants but dammit all he's gonna pine about it anyway, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Frottage, M/M, Omlette Du Frottage, Post-Scene: The Ritz (Good Omens), Sex in the Bookshop (Good Omens), Songfic, That's WPH's fault, now with sfw art!, pine-scented fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:33:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22504066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MovesLikeBucky/pseuds/MovesLikeBucky
Summary: The trouble started right there in Berkeley Square.  Right after they decided to go to lunch. Aziraphale had taken his hand as they walked to the Ritz and time had just stopped.  And not in the overwrought, waxing poetic kind of way either. No, time had literally stopped.Everything but Crowley had stopped.  Birds hovered in the air, the wind stayed in place, the whole nine.  Even Aziraphale had been frozen in place, smile beaming on his face mid-turn towards Crowley.It had taken a fair bit of effort to start it back up again; then they continued on like nothing happened.  Aziraphale was smiling and talking animatedly with no idea of what had transpired, and their fingers stayed intertwined all the way to the restaurant.  It was nice, this affection thing.  He thought he might be able to get used to it.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Ritz to the Rubble [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1619113
Comments: 60
Kudos: 344
Collections: Good Omens (Complete works)





	I'm Not Over You, Can I Get Back Under?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [apocryphalia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/apocryphalia/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [I'm Not Over You, Can I Get Back Under?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26043064) by [Princess_of_logic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess_of_logic/pseuds/Princess_of_logic), [T_h_e_r_o](https://archiveofourown.org/users/T_h_e_r_o/pseuds/T_h_e_r_o)



> We're back on the gift fic train! This time for [Apocryphalia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/apocryphalia/pseuds/apocryphalia)! The song for this one is [Next To You by Bell X1](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pNCzO_crMgg)! (Title taken from there as well). This is a direct continuation of [well then, ask me to stay](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22087933). It stands on it's own for the most part, but there are a couple of references to it in this one that probably read better with the knowledge of that one. 
> 
> Third time writing smut and I'm not nearly as nervous anymore xD it's old hat at this point, hope y'all enjoy it!
> 
> Edit: This fic now has lovely art that was commissioned from Relemnopy! Go check her out on Twitter ([sfw](https://twitter.com/relemenopy?s=20), [nsfw](https://twitter.com/spicy_carrot?s=20))!

_We'd be stuck in this place_

_For an age or two_

_I hope the wind changes_

_And the vacuum in space will draw me to you_

_I hope the wind changes_

_I'm not over you, can I get back under_

_\---_

Cold water runs through his red hair and in rivulets down his face. His hands grip the sink hard enough that it should break; but it doesn’t because he’s decided it won’t. 

“Pull it together,” he hisses at himself in the mirror, reflection fractured by the water droplets on his sunglasses. Fractured like he feels; fractured like everything if he doesn’t _get his shit together._

This shouldn’t keep happening - he’s better than this. He _has_ to be better than this. 

The trouble started right there in Berkeley Square. Right after they decided to go to lunch. Aziraphale had taken his hand as they walked to the Ritz and time had just stopped. And not in the overwrought, waxing poetic kind of way either. No, time had literally stopped.

Everything but Crowley had stopped. Birds hovered in the air, the wind stayed in place, the whole nine. Even Aziraphale had been frozen in place, smile beaming on his face mid-turn towards Crowley.

It had taken a fair bit of effort to start it back up again; then they continued on like nothing happened. Aziraphale was smiling and talking animatedly with no idea of what had transpired, and their fingers stayed intertwined all the way to the restaurant. It was nice, this _affection_ thing. He thought he might be able to get used to it. 

As they walked and talked, keeping hold of each other and neither wanting to let go, he put the accidental miracle behind him. He assumed it must’ve been a one-time fluke - side effect of switching bodies and getting back into his own. 

Until it went off the rails again.

They had been enjoying their late Ritz lunch, talking about their experiences in both Heaven and Hell. Crowley’s hand was resting on the table, just a scant couple of inches away from Aziraphale’s, thinking nothing of it. 

“The look on Beelzebub’s face whenever I threatened them, dearest, I do believe you would have been quite proud of me.” Aziraphale hadn’t stopped smiling since they switched back, eyes bright and twinkling. Making Crowley glad he has his sunglasses.

Crowley took a long swig of his champagne and smiled right back, “I’m sure you were more than brilliant, Angel.” He thought he could get used to this - the pet names, the smiling, the happiness - if he could just get past these nerves.

“Well,” Aziraphale said with a wiggle, “it’s very easy to be brave when I’m channeling you, my love.” As he said this he ran one finger up the side of Crowley’s hand, barely a featherlight touch. Everything in the restaurant froze.

“No, ugh,” he groans, “not again.” He looked around him. A couple of patrons had their glasses half-tipped to their faces or hands stopped mid-gesture in the air. Waiters and waitresses stuck with their trays. A sommelier with a bottle of champagne at a table, the thin line of it frozen in the air.

Crowley closed his eyes and breathed deeply; an action not necessary, but calming all the same. He’d seen it in some self-help videos he’d watched on a lark. His heartbeat (also not needed) was frantic and he felt like he could jump right out of his own skin. Like he needed to run and run and run to stave off the excess energy that hit him out of nowhere.

He concentrated and started time again, unconsciously ripping his hand away from Aziraphale when things started moving again. The confused and hurt look on his angel’s face threatened to push those feelings even further.

“I just...gotta...yeah...be right back,” he stammered as he left the table and made a beeline for the restrooms.

Crowley had always prided himself on his ability to come across as some form of ‘cool.’ Accidentally firing off demonic miracles to stop time because of a bit of affection is about the furthest from cool he could possibly be.

He leans his head against the mirror with a ‘thunk’ and lets out a deep sigh. 

Another man walks into the restroom, then immediately remembers somewhere else he needs to be and leaves again.

There’s no reason for this in Crowley’s mind. Things are good. Last night was _good_. They could touch now. Could kiss now. Could possibly have a repeat of last night if he was at all lucky. Maybe even more than that.

He’s the happiest he’s been in decades. Centuries, if he were pressed for an answer. So why is this happening. Why is this happening _now._

He can’t keep Aziraphale waiting, doesn’t want to. A thought occurs to him - once he’d got time moving again, the initial handholding didn’t make time stop any longer. Maybe he just has to get past each hurdle as it comes. If that’s all then he should be fine, right?

He snaps his fingers - hair and face now dry - pulls himself together, and heads back to the table. 

Aziraphale’s face lights up like a sunrise as soon as he sees Crowley, and the demon’s heart does those funny somersaults again. The angels face falls back very quickly into concern and all at once Crowley feels guiltier than he has in the past century.

“Are you alright, dear? You left in such a hurry.” Aziraphale asks, frowning slightly. All Crowley wants to do is kiss that frown off of his angel’s face - but he isn’t quite sure he could manage.

“Nah, ‘m fine, just needed a second.” He says as he sits back down, taking the proper method of sitting in chairs as more of a suggestion than a fact, draping one arm over the back and sitting at a diagonal.

Aziraphale furrows his brow and quirks his head to one side, and it should not be as endearing as it is. Crowley takes a deep breath that he hopes Aziraphale doesn’t notice and reaches out to cover the angel’s hand with his own.

He opens his eyes and sees Aziraphale beaming at him, feels a wave of love and affection so strong he wants to get pulled out to sea on it. But the world is still moving, even as he runs his thumb affectionately along Aziraphale’s hand. All good then, no big deal. He just has to restart time every time he gets overwhelmed. That’ll be fine.

The rest of lunch (now stretching into dinner) goes off without a hitch. Crowley pays the tab and only feels his heart flutter a normal amount when Aziraphale links his arm with his on their way out of the restaurant. Still though, so far so good.

The conversation is more subdued now, more pleasant sighs from Aziraphale than anything else. Crowley doesn’t think he’s ever seen his angel this happy, and the fact that he might be the cause of that happiness stirs warm feelings in his chest.

_Yes, all good, this will be fine,_ Crowley thinks as they walk leisurely arm in arm, Aziraphale’s head resting on his shoulder, _everything is gonna be just fine._

And it is, until with a swiftness only found in (former) Soldiers of the Lord Aziraphale pulls him into an alley and crowds him up against a wall, hands fisted into his black lapels, bodies pressed together almost flush.

“‘Ziraphale, wh-”

“Shhh,” Aziraphale says with mischief in his eyes, “this is all I’ve been able to think about all day.” Bastard has always been a good look on his angel, even more so after the events of the previous night. All too suddenly Aziraphale presses his lips to Crowley’s, and the demon does his best to relax into it.

He kisses Aziraphale back, licking into his mouth, tasting the red wine from dinner and the raspberry and chocolate cake, too. Crowley’s hands come up to cup both of Aziraphale’s cheeks, thumbs running tiny circles on them. He could get lost in this sensation alone, wouldn’t need anything else.

He’s trying so hard at this point to relax. _Don’t think about fucking this up,_ he tells himself, _just think about Aziraphale._

_Don’t think about making a mess of things._

_Don’t think about things backfiring._

_Don’t think about how you don’t deserve this._

_Don’t think about how you’ll ruin this in the end._

_Don’t think about how you’re both crashing into a dead end and the only inevitability is just that. The end._

A telltale shimmer waves through the air. Aziraphale stops moving completely under his hands, under his mouth. It’s happened again.

“Shit,” Crowley says. Or tries to say. It comes out more than a bit unintelligible since he has a tongue in his mouth that doesn’t belong to him. This is getting more than a bit embarrassing. He almost wants to just lean here and become one with the wall. Better than admitting he’s finally able to do the things he’s wanted to do for centuries but he can’t do them. Can’t get out of his own head long enough.

He focuses and starts time up, breaking off from Aziraphale who smiles up at him with sparkling eyes and swollen lips and damn it all to Heaven if that doesn’t make Crowley weak in the knees.

Aziraphale leans back in and Crowley kisses him tenderly but breaks off far sooner than he’d like. 

“Maybe we should save this for the bookshop, Angel,” he says, wrapping his arms around Aziraphale and rubbing their noses together, “I know you’ll want to make sure everything is in its proper place.”

“Yes, I suppose you have a point,” Aziraphale sighs and smooths Crowley’s lapels back down from where he’d bunched them up, “I’d particularly like to make sure Adam remembered the flat.”

“The flat?” Crowley asks, as Aziraphale leaves his arms. Crowley will never in all of the rest of existence admit he almost whimpers at the loss of contact. “Since when do you have a flat?”

“Oh, always,” Aziraphale says as he straightens out his waistcoat and pulls at his bowtie. Completely put back together already. “Never thought about it much until now. Unless you’d prefer us to always go to yours?”

“Ngk-”

“I mean, your bed was rather lovely.” Aziraphale’s eyes glint as he talks and Crowley knows his mouth is hanging open at a rather odd angle. “But I must say the thought of recreating last night’s...activities...in my own place is a rather titillating one.”

“Angel you can’t just _say_ things like that.” Crowley feels the tips of his ears going warm. “Gonna discorporate me one of these days.”

“Dearest, I live next to a shop that sells all manner of sundry goods for the more...how should I say... _nighttime proclivities._ ” Aziraphale shoots Crowley only the mildest of glances when he hears him groan. “It would be remiss of me, as a bookseller, not to do thorough research on any and all manner of literature.”

“Are you telling me you have sexy books?”

Aziraphale tilts his head in that way he does when he thinks he’s being clever. “Possibly. But you’d never know of them. Because they’re in the flat. Above the shop.” Aziraphale walks back out of the alley, humming some old piece of Bach’s, leaving Crowley completely flabbergasted as he hurries to catch up.

“Were you ever going to tell me you had sexy books? Or a flat for that matter?”

“Dearest, you never asked,” Aziraphale laughs as he links their hands together once more.

“Well why the Heaven would I?” Crowley can only stare. He’s been in love with Aziraphale for so long he didn’t think there were any more surprises left to be had. This is all a revelation to him and quite suddenly he starts to wonder if things might be moving a little swift for him. “Who are you and what have you done with my angel?”

“Hmm…” Aziraphale says, tucking his other arm in the crook of Crowley’s elbow and leaning on his shoulder as they walk. “You know I do think I like the sound of that.”

“Of wot?”

“Being _your_ angel. Specifically.” Aziraphale turns and places a tender kiss to Crowley’s cheek just as they arrive to the bookshop, “seems about time, after all, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, well, ‘spose it does,” Crowley stammers as they go inside. Something feels off about that; doesn’t sit right. Sure he’s Aziraphale’s demon, been his for a very long time, even before he could admit it to himself. But Aziraphale being _his_? It seems backwards to him.

Crowley pauses in the doorway. The last time he was here, he wore his angel’s face. The time before that, it was engulfed in flames and he was so sure Aziraphale had been as well. Aziraphale is here though, with him. Real and alive and _here_. 

It’s been a tough couple of days, to say the least.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Aziraphale says as he hangs his old coat on the rack near the door, “doesn’t look like one thing is out of place!”

“Got some new ones on the desk,” Crowley points to the boys’ adventure books (first editions, all of them), “seems our young antichrist has a favorite genre.”

“Oh well, it might be nice to have something like that around. In case he ever comes to visit.”

Aziraphale plucks his gray sweater from the back of the chair by the till and puts it on. Crowley has thought about that sweater on many nights over many glasses of wine. He’s debated putting it on and wrapping himself in Aziraphale’s warmth before, when the angel had been out. He never had; would’ve just hurt. To know that would be as close as he could get - closer than he deserved. It occurs to him he doesn’t have to think that way about it anymore. 

Aziraphale wants to be with him, he’d made that clear the night before. It plays back in Crowley’s mind, those words. _(Until every single radiant star you ever hung in the sky burns out, and even after that I will still be yours, whatever is left of me then.)_ He can’t help the shiver that runs down his spine, tinged with the unworthiness he feels in his heart.

“What you want us to just, I dunno, sink into the role of godfathers then?” Crowley drapes himself across the backroom sofa, doing his best to become one with the furniture. He tosses his sunglasses onto the coffee table while Aziraphale putters around, taking books off of one shelf and then putting them back onto another. Immediately distracted in the vicinity of his almost-lost possessions, just as Crowley knew he would be,.

“We might as well, darling, who knows what kind of trouble the poor boy could run afoul of. He might be mostly human now, but he’s still the antichrist.”

“Oh, angel, always the soft heart.”

Aziraphale smiles at him fondly, stopping in the midst of his wild back-and-forth through the shop to kiss Crowley on the forehead, “Oh my dearest, we know who the softer of us is, I believe.”

Crowley lets the warmth of that small gesture wash over him, not even wanting to put up a token resistance to the comment for once. Them here, together, it feels the same and yet altogether different. He’s still a bit sore from their excursions the night before, but it’s a pleasant kind of pain. Crowley absentmindedly runs a hand along his neck and his shoulder, the dark bruises he knows are still there. Markers that prove he belongs to the angel, just as he’s always wanted.

He listens to Aziraphale roaming the shop, and the familiar sounds lull him into a light sleep. Maybe, just maybe, he’s past this hurdle now.

By the time he wakes the sun has long since dipped below the horizon; what light that does stream in from the bookshop windows is made of the mingling of the purple-orange sunset and the streetlights just coming to life. Crowley cranes his neck and stretches, feeling all at once both too comfortable and too warm to bother much with moving. He runs a hand over his neck once again, without opening his eyes, still inclined to think everything is just a dream he’ll wake up from any minute. This isn’t the case, the bruises are still there.

“Ah, here you are, darling,” he hears the familiar voice with the unfamiliar endearment from above him.

Crowley opens his eyes slowly, feeling the deep-seated feeling of sluggishness that short naps tend to leave one with. He looks up into blue eyes and the sunshine of Aziraphale’s smile. At some point during his nap, Aziraphale must’ve sat down on the couch with him. Somehow his head has ended up in the angel’s lap, and Aziraphale is stroking featherlight touches through his hair. It’s enough to make a demon want to curl up and _purr_ of all things.

There’s a certain look on Aziraphale’s face. One of reverence, of love, of devotion. Things that he shouldn’t be wearing on his face in regards to Crowley. In the demon’s mind, at least, Aziraphale should be the one who gets those things from him. Reverence, love, devotion, worship. Crowley could spend the rest of his days on his knees worshipping at the altar of Aziraphale. But instead, Aziraphale had been watching him.

“Were you watching me sleep, angel?” Crowley slurs as he rubs his eyes.

“Oh, well,” a deliciously pink blush creeps up the angel’s cheeks and to his ears. It’s revoltingly adorable, Crowley thinks. “Well, that is...yes I was, terribly sorry.”

“Why’re you sorry? ‘S not that big a deal ‘Ziraphale.”

“You see, I just,” the angel heaves a sigh, running his nails lightly along Crowley’s scalp. It makes him want to curl up and fall back asleep. “You’re so peaceful when you sleep, it’s rather endearing, but if it bothers you, I won’t do it.”

It’s almost too much for Crowley, being looked at that way, as if he were something to be _adored_ not something to be feared. Seems a bit off. A bit wrong, if he’s honest. “Didn’t say it bothered me, angel.” 

“Oh, well, that’s wonderful then,” Aziraphale says with a wiggle, “I rather do like looking at you, dearest.”

Crowley can’t stop himself. He isn’t sure what it is - the blush on the angel’s cheeks, the stupid wiggle he does when he’s satisfied he’s made his point, or the feeling of those perfectly manicured nails through his hair and along his scalp - but before he can think better of it, Crowley is scrambling up into Aziraphale’s lap, winding his arms around the angel’s neck. He kisses every bit of Aziraphale’s face that he can get to before bringing their lips together.

He feels Aziraphale’s hands run along his thighs and then up to his ribcage, just enough pressure to be possessive. Aziraphale deepens the kiss, and Crowley takes full advantage, mapping out the angel’s teeth and tongue, committing them to memory. Aziraphale’s hands move up and over his chest, and Crowley lets him push the black jacket off his shoulders. 

It’s different than the night before. The previous night was frantic and fast, the crashing wave of six thousand years of buildup and longing and _want_. This is slower, more methodical. Crowley can tell Aziraphale intends to savor him this time. To take him apart piece by piece. They have all the time in the world now.

Aziraphale manages to untuck Crowley’s shirt from his trousers and runs his hands up the skin of his back. The contact sends sparks down Crowley’s spine right into the core of him.

The world shimmers, and everything freezes again. Almost everything.

“Crowley, what was that?” Aziraphale asks, stilling under him.

“Erm...nothing?” Crowley says, trying to distract Aziraphale with kisses to his neck and right under his ear. It’s an improvement, at least, Aziraphale isn’t frozen this time.

“Crowley, stop it for a minute dear, I think time stopped,” Aziraphale says pushing Crowley back off him.

“Yes, and, your point?” Crowley asks, leaning back down for another kiss that Aziraphale avoids.

“Darling, stopping time is a thing that you do, and it’s completely unnecessary right now!”

“Yeah, but it happened, so it is what it is.” He’s determined to fight his way through this, whatever it is, that’s making him keep doing this. And as long as Aziraphale isn’t frozen, too, he doesn’t see a need to do anything else.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale says with a sigh as Crowley takes his earlobe between his teeth and pulls.

“Yes, fine,” he snaps his fingers and time starts moving again, “Better, angel?” He asks as he starts trailing kisses across Aziraphale’s temple and back down his neck.

“Crowley…” Aziraphale’s hands are in his hair and his lips are on the angel’s pulse point and everything is absolutely wonderful.

“ _Crowley._ ” Aziraphale grips him by the hair and pulls him away. He’s breathing hard and his hair is a mess and he’s so fucking beautiful it takes everything Crowley has not to just start kissing him again. “Crowley, dearest,” he says in between breaths, “is this what’s been going on all day? Why you’ve been so distracted?”

“Who’s been distracted?” 

“You have, dear,” Aziraphale says, rolling his eyes and repositioning himself as Crowley climbs off of him to sit next to him on the couch. “On our way to the Ritz, during dinner, in the alleyway. I was beginning to worry that something was amiss, and it seems there is.”

“Just a few accidental demonic miracles, nothing to be worried about.” 

“Accidental…Crowley have you been freezing time all day?” Aziraphale fixes him with a look that Crowley has always been powerless against. He can’t lie to Aziraphale, never has been able to. Especially not when those gray-blue eyes are staring him down like this, daring him to. He mumbles unintelligibly, hoping to stave off this conversation just a little longer. 

“What was that?”

“Only three times,” he says, louder than intended, “four counting now.” He feels the heat rising in his cheeks as he crosses his arms and puts on his best scowl (which he’d be ashamed to know reads much more like a pout).

“Why?”

“If I knew that I’d bloody well stop, don’t you think?” Crowley cradles his face in his hands, staring at the floor, “I don’t have the slightest idea why it’s happening, just what triggers it.”

“And what is that?” Aziraphale slowly and softly puts a hand on Crowley’s back, gently rubbing circles where the base of his wings would be. It’s nice. Comforting, even.

“Affection.” Crowley leans into Aziraphale, letting his head fall onto the angel’s shoulder before continuing. “From you, apparently.”

“Last night…” The soothing circles stop. “Did you…”

“No, no, not last night,” Crowley says, nuzzling into Aziraphale’s neck. “I think something about ‘possible certain doom’ kept me distracted enough for it not to. I don’t know why it’s happening, I just know that the same thing doesn’t set it off twice. Once I get past the act of affection it doesn’t make everything freeze anymore.”

“So when we held hands-” 

“Yup”

“And then at the restaurant-”

“Two for two.”

“And in the alley, when we-”

“Guilty as charged.”

“Well there has to be a reason why. What do you feel like when it happens?” He can practically feel the gears in Aziraphale’s head turning. Just like the angel, already looking for a solution. Aziraphale laces their fingers together, running a comforting thumb along Crowley’s. 

“Like… I don’t know, wound up, like a string ready to snap.” Crowley can feel the prickle of tears at the corner of his eyes. “Like I don’t know what to do next. Like I have choices in front of me but if I pick the wrong one-”

“-it’ll all come crashing down?” Aziraphale interrupts him in a voice so quiet he almost misses it entirely. There’s a crack in his voice that Crowley can’t let slide. He sits back up and looks Aziraphale in the eyes. 

“Yes…”

“Oh, my darling,” Aziraphale says with a wobble to his lips. All Crowley wants to do is kiss that worry away. “But you must know there’s nothing you could do to drive me away?”

“You can’t know that for sure.” Crowley says as Aziraphale unlaces their fingers and brings his arms around him, pulling Crowley towards him and cradling his face to his chest. Crowley feels safer than he ever has, and he lets his tears fall silently.

“I can know how I feel for sure,” Aziraphale says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “have known for quite a long time, darling.”

“That’s all well and good, but at the end of the day I’m still a demon, I’m still _me_. What happens when you remember your place and I’m not good enough anymore?”

“That’s not fair, Crowley,” Aziraphale says as he wraps his arms around Crowley even tighter. “You’re assuming that you know where my heart will lie years, decades, even centuries from now. And _you_ , my dear, can’t know that for sure.”

“Neither can you.” Crowley snakes his arms around Aziraphale, nuzzling his face into that soft chest and relishing his ability to do so. The dichotomy of it all confuses him. How can something feel wrong and right at the same time? And how do you decide which it is?

“Yes, and that is the scary part, isn’t it?” Aziraphale is running his fingers through Crowley’s hair again and bless it all if it doesn’t make it hard to think. “But I think, given everything we’ve been through these millennia, we ought to give it a shot.”

“But what if I mess it all up?” Crowley chokes out around a sob and Aziraphale is tilting his face up towards his own, kissing the tear tracks on his face.

“Dearest, you’ve had centuries to, as you say, mess up the way that I feel about you, and you haven’t yet.”

“Centuries?” Could Aziraphale really have loved him for that long without Crowley noticing?

“Our first dinner out together, the oysters back with Petronius; if not earlier than that.” A gentle hand is brushing the hair off Crowley's forehead. A gentle thumb wipes the tears away from his eyes.

“All that time and you never said-” Crowley’s arms go lax, loosening his vice-grip hold on Aziraphale; hands falling to rest on his hips.

“I _couldn’t_ , Crowley, and you know that. The thought of what Hell might do to you… I couldn’t bear it.” He kisses Crowley’s cheek, his jaw, his nose, before placing a soft kiss to his lips. “So I hid and I pretended, but I have loved you for so long, Crowley. I have been yours for so long, I’m not sure I’d know how to be anything else.”

“Don’t say that, angel,” Crowley’s voice cracks, a fresh round of tears threatening to fall. They’ve been hiding for so long, how does one come out into the light when all you know is the darkness?

“Don’t say what?” Aziraphale asks, reaching for Crowley’s hand. He brings Crowley’s hand to his face, pressing a gentle kiss just on the inside of his wrist before nuzzling into his palm.

“There’s just something… I dunno, weird, about it. Calling yourself mine. Like we’re equal or something. Like I’m worth that.”

“But Crowley, you are, we are equals.” Aziraphale presses kisses to each of Crowley’s knuckles in turn, “We’re on our own side, remember?”

“‘M not worth it.” Crowley drops his head down to Aziraphale’s shoulder, trying to will his tears away. 

“Dearest, look at me,” a gentle finger on Crowley’s chin brings him back level with Aziraphale once more. “How could you ever think you’re not worthy of love? Of adoration or of devotion? I look at you and I see the beauty of the galaxies you built, I see the cleverness of your mind, the mischief of that trickster nature of yours. That kindness that you try to bury but manages to claw its way out anyway. My darling, you are the most exquisite creature in all of creation I’ve ever had the pleasure to know. You can’t fault me for being a bit covetous.”

Aziraphale leans in and kisses Crowley, finger stroking his chin lightly. It’s a kiss full of love and devotion; full of promise. Aziraphale breaks off and leans their foreheads together, stroking his thumb along Crowley’s cheek; their breath mingling in the close proximity. “Crowley, I love you so much, let me help you relax. Let me show you that we’re equals.” Aziraphale kisses him again, more desperate this time, “oh my love, let me show you how much I adore you.”

Aziraphale pushes him back onto the couch as his hands come back under his shirt, pushing it up and over his head. He kisses Crowley hungrily, tongue seeking and finding entry. Crowley’s fingers sink into Aziraphale’s blond hair, grasping for purchase as Aziraphale moans into his mouth.

Crowley pushes Aziraphale back up, pushing that damned sweater off his shoulders and making quick work of his bowtie, trailing kisses along his neck and jaw. He can feel as much as hear Aziraphale sigh as he licks a slow line up the hollow of his throat and over his Adam’s apple. 

Soon enough the waistcoat and shirt are gone and they’re skin to skin once again. Crowley doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to get enough of this. The warmth of Aziraphale pressing into him, as close as they can be in these physical corporations. 

It’s cramped here on the couch, but Crowley doesn’t care. Not while Aziraphale is on top of him and writhing into him and moaning. It’s overwhelming, even with their trousers still on. The friction and heat of it are almost unbearable.

Crowley moans and throws his head back and Aziraphale takes full advantage, kissing over the bruises he left the night before. “You didn’t miracle them away?” Aziraphale practically sighs against Crowley’s ear, kissing the shell of it and nuzzling against his face.

“Didn’t want to,” Crowley says around a gasp as that delicious friction hits him in just the right way, “wanted to see them, wanted to know it wasn’t a dream.”

Aziraphale grinds down into him with meaning and Crowley can feel just how hard the angel is. “Does that feel like a dream to you?”

Crowley moans as he scratches his nails on Aziraphale’s shoulder blades. “Best dream I’ve ever had,” he finds himself just long enough to slot their lips together again, rolling his hips up into Aziraphale’s. 

It’s too much. The skin, the sweat, the friction. He’s so very, very close and he doesn’t want to be yet. Aziraphale is running his tongue and teeth along his collarbones and he wants to spontaneously combust.

“Aziraphale, angel,” he gasps out as heat coils at the base of his spine with every roll of Aziraphale’s hips, “Angel, I’m, I’m gonna-”

He’s stopped by Aziraphale’s strangled cry as the angel stills above him, dropping his forehead against Crowley’s and breathing heavily.

“Angel, did you just-”

“Yes.”

“Without even-”

“Yes,” Aziraphale kisses him, soft and breathy, “yes, darling, but I fully intend to see to you as well, dearest.” Before Crowley can stop him, Aziraphale is scrambling to the floor on his knees. 

“Wait, Aziraphale, you don’t-”

“I know that I don’t have to, but I want to,” Aziraphale says, running his broad hands along Crowley’s thighs, sending a shiver up the demon’s spine. “Let me be good for you, darling.”

Crowley feels the heat rushing to his face. “Shouldn’t say things like that, angel.”

“Whyever not?”

“ _I_ should be the one saying things like that. _I_ should be the one down there on my knees, not you. You shouldn’t kneel in front of anything, much less me.”

“Oh Crowley, this is exactly what I want us to get past. I know one romp through the bookshop won’t be enough to do it, but I need you to know that you’re worthy of love. That you’re _good_ , just as you are.”

“Aziraphale…” Crowley swallows hard, unable to process his thoughts with Aziraphale at his feet. It’s strange and blasphemous in it’s own way; an angel kneeling for a demon. An angel _loving_ a demon.

“If you don’t want me to, then I won’t,” Aziraphale says, hands stilling on Crowley’s legs, “you’re in control here.” His lips are swollen from their kisses, and his cottonfluff hair is a mess from Crowley’s roaming hands. He’s pink and disheveled and right there at Crowley’s feet, wanting him. Wanting Crowley in the same way that Crowley has dreamed about for millennia at this point.

“Angel, please, I want this.” Aziraphale lurches up to kiss him, deep and devoted, running his hands up Crowley’s thighs onto his chest and all the way to his face, where he brushes gentle thumbstrokes across the demon’s cheeks.

“I thought you’d say that,” Aziraphale says with his trademarked bastard smirk when he breaks off, “But I think, if you’re open to it, I’d like you to just lie back and take what I give you. You can do that for me, can’t you Crowley?”

Crowley tries to respond but feels his voice catch in his throat. He wants this, he wants this so badly, but he’s never been given the opportunity to ask for what he wants before. He looks into Aziraphale’s eyes, staring back at him with so much love and devotion and he _knows_. He knows that this love Aziraphale wants to share with him, it’s been his all along. They don’t have to hide anymore. Aziraphale wants him and he wants Aziraphale. With everything he is. And if that isn’t worthy of love… then what is?

“I won’t do anything until you tell me to, dearest,” Aziraphale says, head resting against Crowley’s thigh, waiting for his answer. Crowley can feel Aziraphale’s breath through the fabric of his jeans and it’s only serving to rile him up more.

Crowley swallows hard, reaches out a hand and strokes two fingers down Aziraphale’s cheek, “Please, angel, I want whatever you want to give me.”

Aziraphale’s face lights up brighter than the sun. “I’m going to give you everything that I can, Crowley. All of the love and praise and worship that I feel you deserve.” Aziraphale places a gentle kiss to the side of Crowley’s knee before trailing them up his thigh. Crowley shivers at the touch, not used to these gentle ways.

Aziraphale reaches for his zipper and drags it down slowly. Crowley shifts to help Aziraphale work the skintight jeans off of him, boxer briefs going with them. “I’ve always found you so handsome, my darling,” Aziraphale says, running the tip of his finger from the base of Crowley’s cock up to the tip, before spreading the precum around with his thumb.

He leans down and places a soft kiss to the tip of it, moaning as he does; Crowley nearly jumps out of his skin at the vibration of it. “My darling. My dearest. My Crowley.” Aziraphale whispers, punctuating each endearment with a kiss to the shaft, working his way to the base.

He looks up at Crowley through those maddeningly long eyelashes, waiting for the go ahead. Crowley nods at him vigorously and Aziraphale licks a fast stripe from the base to the tip before taking it in his mouth. Crowley cries out at the warm, wet heat of him - surrounding and enveloping him in ways he didn’t even know he needed. 

As Aziraphale moves on him, up and down and back again, Crowley’s hand comes up to twist in Aziraphale’s hair. He’s stopped by the angel’s free hand as Aziraphale laces their fingers together and pins Crowley’s hand to the couch. He drags his mouth off slowly, deliberately. “No dearest, just enjoy this,” Aziraphale says, nipping at the inside of Crowley’s thigh, “let me take care of you.”

As Aziraphale takes him back into his mouth, Crowley can’t stop his hips from canting upwards as he moans out the angel’s name. Aziraphale doesn’t stop, just keeps moving. The heat and the pressure build to a breaking point inside of Crowley, and he knows he won’t be able to hold on much longer. Every flick of Aziraphale’s tongue, every cool puff of his breath that ghosts over him, every moan and sound that comes out of him that vibrates through Crowley all the way into his heart.

“‘Ziraphale, I’m, I’m-”

Aziraphale sinks down around him one last time, all the way to the base, and Crowley loses all control. He spills down the angels throat with his name on his lips, crying out to the rafters. Aziraphale doesn’t move until he’s taken in every last bit of it and Crowley is softening in his mouth. He pulls off and rubs his face on Crowley’s thigh, breathing heavy. Crowley, for his part, can barely hear anything above his heart pounding. He wonders to himself, just as he did the night before, if this is what discorporation feels like.

Aziraphale climbs back up onto the sofa and sinks into his arms, nuzzling into his chest. So affectionate it _should_ be disgusting. Aziraphale spares a quick miracle to get rid of his own trousers before linking their legs together and snuggling even further into Crowley’s chest.

“I love you, angel,” Crowley whispers against the angel’s hair, idly twirling one of the curls at the base of Aziraphale’s neck. He hears a very sleepy murmur against his chest that sounds and feels a lot like ‘I love you, too,’ and he smiles. Real and genuine. 

A quick miracle on Crowley’s part has them both covered in a ridiculously soft tartan blanket, wrapped up in warmth and each other. Time didn’t stop, not once. And it isn’t stopping now, as Aziraphale lies there in Crowley’s arms, afterglow surrounding them both.

Crowley’s life is set out before him, full of miraculous choices he’ll get to make every day. Full of days he’ll get to spend with his angel. Full of hand holding and kissing and long nights snuggled up on this very sofa. Full of nights of passion like this one, nights where they show each other in the most human way possible what they feel.

Seems fitting, Crowley thinks, after all this time around humans. To have such a human way to show love. Aziraphale shifts and lets out a tiny little snore and Crowley’s heart aches with it. 

They’re here, in a bookshop that didn’t burn down, with a love that is wholly and truly theirs. They’re here together, and the days stretch out ahead of them. Time isn’t pulling a face anymore, Crowley doesn’t think it would dare to again. 

He drops a kiss into Aziraphale’s hair and dims the lights with a thought. He pulls the blankets tighter around them, wrapping his arms around his angel, and drifts off to sleep.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Come and scream with me on [Tumblr](https://moveslikebucky.tumblr.com)!


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